


A Duel at Dawn

by erinville99



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Lieutenant Killian Jones/Princess Emma Swan, Mutual Pining, Oneshot, Swordplay, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:47:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26415904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erinville99/pseuds/erinville99
Summary: Princess Emma has conflicting emotions toward her best friend, Lieutenant Killian Jones. She really doesn't appreciate his early morning wake up calls, no matter how handsome he is.
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 9
Kudos: 77





	A Duel at Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> I have a soft spot for Lieutenant Duckling fics. This is a oneshot for now.

The distinct clanging of steel on steel echoes in Princess Emma’s ears, slowly awakening her from a most pleasant slumber. A glance toward her stone balcony reveals only the barest glimpse of sun peeking over the horizon. Emma mumbles into her pillow. “Who in the realm practices at this hour?” A distinct male voice rises above the clatter. Emma punches the mattress with both fists. “Killian!” Once regarded as her soulmate, he has now adopted a playfully antagonistic role, especially when he chooses to spar outside her balcony at dawn. She groans again and throws a pillow over her head, desperate for a few more minutes of sleep. She tosses and turns, desperately attempting to block out the ruckus. The sharp clashes continue and she can just make out the sound of the king’s laughter floating to her ears from down below. _Gah! Father, don’t encourage him._ She hears the phrase “good form” and she can imagine the charming Lieutenant Jones’ lips forming the words; the raising of his eyebrow and the sparkle in his blue eyes. She wraps her arms around her middle to temper the anxious knots in her stomach from his lilting accent. _Damn him,_ she thinks. Her frustrations hold an underlying sense of relief that he’s returned safely. The sparring halts, granting her ears a reprieve. She throws the duvet off of her body and strides to the window with purpose. Before she can announce her displeasure with his transgressions, she is met with the sight of a shirtless Killian, breathless with a light sheen of perspiration, and for a moment she needs to take a deep breath herself. It has been nearly four months since he's been home, their meetings few and far between as he serves the realm under her father’s command. But, he looks good, too good. How could she forget how striking he can be? The once shy and lanky boy has truly become a man, all lean muscle and swagger and...facial hair? _Damn!_ _That has to be against naval regulations._ Before she can tear her eyes away from the beads of sweat trickling down the cords of his neck, he catches her gawking. He furrows his brow and smirks at her. 

“Oye! Behold! She’s awake with the sun! How is the fair princess this morning? You just missed your father. I bested him again, so he's probably off sulking.” He inspects his sword, wiping off a scuff before sheathing it.

“The fair princess would be much better if you decided to spar somewhere else other than under my balcony. We still have a practice yard on the west side of the castle, you know.” She gestures wildly, nearly forgetting she is still in her nightclothes.

“Apologies, lass, but beneath your balcony is by far the best view.” She casts a hard stare at him, but he corrects himself before she can reprimand.“ Of the sunrise, of course. I came here to welcome in a new day. Unbeknownst to me, your father had the same idea, and before I knew it, we’d engaged in a friendly battle. It’s been awhile since I’ve had such rigorous competition.” He dramatically gestures with his hand before dripping low into a regal bow. “Does the lady wish to have a go?” He unconsciously drags his tongue across his lower lip _._

Emma does desire a go, very much so, in more ways than one, but she scoffs instead, convincing him (herself) or her indifference. “The lady wishes to be left to her solace. You’ve been back twelve hours, and you’re already acting a menace, Jones” 

Killian places his hand over his heart. “Menace? You wound me. This so-called menace has been on a peacekeeping mission to the Southern Isles for the betterment of the realm. My men and I make sacrifices, so lovely lasses like you can sleep peacefully at night.” 

To anyone else, his words would be the epitome of propriety and decorum. After all, etiquette should be oozing from the pores of a respected lieutenant. But, Emma has seen this man steal rolls from the kitchen and toss them off the castle turrets at innocent passersby. His faux eloquence is the equivalent of horse manure to her ears.

“Ha! Then you failed your mission, because sleep well, I did not, lieutenant.” He bows at her again. 

“Then I offer my sincerest regret, but do you honestly wish to deny a weary sailor the privilege of a beautiful sunrise?” She fights back a grin, because damn, he’s laying it on thick this morning.

“Weary sailor my arse! You just wanted to annoy me at the first available opportunity. I’m surprised you didn’t barge into my bedchamber to poke me with your sword!” The words spew forth before she realizes the double entendre. He, of course, is doubled over with laughter.

“Stop this instant! You knew what I meant!” She wags her finger at him like a mother scolding her child.

“Why, Swan, I didn’t realize that you spent so much time thinking about my _ahem,_ sword.” Her cheeks are crimson, she can feel it. In her twenty years, she has never seen a naked man, but Killian has triggered her curiosity a time or two.

“I was referring to that piece of metal that awoke me this morning. You can’t speak to a princess like that, Lieutenant Jones.”

“Come down here and put me in my place, then.” He beckons her forward with an exaggerated flick of his wrist.

Emma crosses her arms across her chest, mimicking a petulant child. “No!”

“It’s okay to be afraid, we both know you couldn’t handle the strength of my sword, anyway.” He winks (blinks) at her. The inadvertent closing of both eyes undermining the effectiveness of the salacious gesture. Emma remains firm purely out of spite. 

“Please, Emma?” He sticks out his lower lip and she sighs. He’s worn her down and he knows it.

“Grab my sword, you dunce. I’ll be down in a minute.” Her words lack the malice she intended to place behind them. She could never back away from a challenge, especially one from Killian Jones. This morning, nothing could give her more satisfaction than bringing this arrogant sailor to his knees. 

“I’ve already retrieved it, milady.”

“How incredibly presumptuous of you!”

“You’ve never turned down a bit o’ sword play, love.” He knows her too well. In record time, Emma dresses in her practice clothing and pulls her blonde curls into a hair tie, maybe dabbing a bit of perfume on her neck on the way out. Forgoing the journey through the palace, she flips her legs over the balcony and climbs down. When she’s six feet from the ground, she lets go, bracing her feet for impact. That impact never occurs. Instead of solid ground, she’s met with a strong pair of arms around her waist. Arms that continue to linger, long after her toes reach solid ground. He gently spins her around and her emerald eyes lock gazes with his blue. For a moment, she struggles to think of a reason to dislike him. “Southern Isles, huh?”

“Yes, one of those princes was trying to start an uprising. Hans, I believe. We were able to dismantle his small army of supporters, but he fled into the night. His own bloody father has a price on his head. Bad seed, that one. Did you miss me?,” he sincerely asks, as he removes his hands from her waist and takes a step backwards.

Emma reaches for her sword as confidently as she can. “You mean you were away? Hadn’t noticed, Jones. Are you ready to get your arse kicked?” She makes two flourished swipes with her blade and smiles. Killian has always been her favorite sparring partner.

“Darling, I just defeated the King of Misthaven, I’m afraid you’re no match for me. Now being uncouth on the other hand, I’m afraid in that arena you’ll always have me bested.”

“Uncouth?! Every bad habit I have, I picked up from you.”

“Please, you were a brat at eight years old! Stop delaying and engage, Princess.”

The next twenty minutes are a fury of steel and sweat. They are truly an even match, parry for parry, thrust for thrust. What Killian has in strength, Emma makes up for in speed. Growing up and training together, side by side, is both a blessing and a curse. They can predict each other’s moves and know how to expose their weaknesses. Killian knows that Emma lets her emotions dominate her, so he does his best to agitate. He gestures toward her white tunic and loosely laced corset paired with tight leathers. “Love, is there a reason, pray tell, that you’re dressed like a damned bar wench? That’s hardly suitable attire for swordplay.”

“Did you expect me out here in a ballgown? Or my nightdress, perhaps? I don’t think so, pal. Besides, I knew you’d easily be distracted by a pair of nice breasts.” His eyes immediately drift down to her chest after her comment and tips of his ears become pink. “Eyes up here, Jones. I know you’ve been surrounded by nothing but testicles for the past few months, but you were raised a gentleman." For a moment she can see it. Anger attempting to well up in him. No one questions his integrity. No one. When push comes to shove, Killian is one of the good ones, a man of honor, albeit an ornery one. She knows that. But, he quickly shoves his frustration down, schools his features, and changes into attack mode. He reaches under her right thigh and takes advantage of her surprised gasp by flipping her onto her back and pinning her arms above her head, faster than she can say _happily ever after_. Not quite a fair move as far as laws of engagement go, but he refuses to let her win. He throws both of their swords aside and pins her down with his body weight. Too confused to move, Emma can do nothing but lay there blinking, relishing the warm press of his body above hers. _What is he thinking?_ It’s then that Killian produces a dagger from his boot and waves it in front of her as he slowly sits back on his haunches. 

“I win, darling! If you were an adversary, your throat would be slit by now. Nice try, though. Oh, and love...I’ve seen my share of breasts the past few months.” He winks at her, again. She should concede and congratulate him on a good match, but Princess Emma has never liked to lose. She simply can’t let this smug rogue get the best of her. With a roll of her eyes, she decides to give in to the jealousy simmering within her. 

“Ouch, Killian, you’re crushing me. Could you give me a little space?” She feigns a gentle tone conveying nothing but perfect innocence. Without questioning her motives, he scoots completely off of her, tossing the dagger aside.

“I’m sorry, lo-” before he can finish his sentence, Emma pounces on him, slamming his body to the ground and pinning his body tightly with the force of her thighs. His head smacks the grassy earth with a dull thud and an expletive. She is bold enough to snatch the dagger and hold it proudly to his throat.

“You bloody cheated, princess!” He jerks the handle from her hand after she proudly waves the dagger in the air. He angrily throws the item aside. 

“You cheated first with that leg move, Killian! I declare this match a draw by breaking the rules of engagement.” She places her hands on her hips and wiggles them in triumph. Instantly, his pupils dilate and his jaw begins to tick. She may be young and naïve, but she knows what want looks like. In a surprise move, he instantly flips them again, rolling her on her back. She sees a warring jumble of emotions in his stormy blue eyes and wonders if he can see hers as well. He braces himself with his left hand while hiking up her thigh to his waist with the right, leaving her arms to lay limp at her side. She audibly gaps at the sudden intimacy.

“You mean _this_ leg move?” His soft pink lips are just inches away from hers and she’s itching to pull him closer. Their lips have met before of course, many years ago, when they were barely sixteen. It was sweet and chaste, everything a first kiss should be. Emma’s heart pounds as she remembers how soft they were and imagines what they’d feel like now with that delightful ginger scruff added to the mix. She tentatively brings up a hand to feel the scratch of his beard for herself and stroke down his jawline. A glance to his face reveals that his lids have snapped shut and his breathing has become quite rapid. She is intrigued by the effect she’s having on him. She experimentally brings her knee higher, eliciting a low rumble from his throat. His beautiful blue eyes, now alert and curious, wander down to her lips as his mouth inches closer and closer to her own. Emma’s heart is thumping so rapidly, she can feel it in her fingertips. Her hand begins to tremble and fall from his cheek as her eyes instinctively close. She waits for the inevitable brush of his lips. He’s so close she can feel the warm puff of his breath against her. Her body is screaming at her to close the distance between them, but her limbs are like jelly, refusing to bend to her will.

The bastard pulls away at the last minute, his lack of action creating one hurt and confused princess. All good feelings inside her fade as she knees him roughly in the side. He sits back to clutch his wound and that’s when she strikes, pummeling him to the ground, again.

“If you ever try a cheap move like that again, Killian Jones, I swear I’ll-”

“Emma Ruth! _”_ Emma and Killian jerk their heads to face their surprise guest. It’s the queen, looking every bit as mad as a hornet. “What in the realms are you doing out here? We have honored guests arriving for brunch. Marta was sent to dress you, but you weren’t in your bedchamber. I should’ve known you’d be out here accosting Killian! Any other day you’d have to be yanked out of bed.”

“Mother, Killian and I were just sparring!” He abruptly sits up to support her claim and plead his case, accidentally sliding Emma farther onto his lap in the process. They both gasp at the sudden intimate contact. Killian’s eyes try desperately to focus on anything other than the too loose corset and pair of breasts that are now at eye level. He squirms nervously beneath her as he averts his eyes and rubs behind his right ear. He hasn’t looked this timid and unsure since boyhood and she refuses to admit how unfairly adorable he’s always been.

“Sparring? Right.” Queen Snow looks skeptically at the pair. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but don’t the swords work better when they’re in your hands? Nevermind. I don’t want to know. Emma, march! Killian...welcome home. We’ll see you at brunch.”

Emma clambers off his lap while locking eyes with him once more. 

“Love, I-”

“Save it, Jones, I’m not in the mood. And I’m not your love.” He lowers his head in shame. He looks broken, like the scared little orphan from long ago. At this moment, she remembers why it hurts so much every time he leaves and why losing their closeness has left her empty. She wants nothing more but to spend the rest of her life safe in his arms and drowning in those blue eyes. Even if he does wake her at dawn.


End file.
